On the Inspiriation of Viktor Nikiforov
by Hota
Summary: There was no need for his usual smiles, no need to don caps and scarves to avoid the press most days. Hasetsu felt like a snowglobe town removed from the rest of the world, and even those who knew who he was treated him like a common tourist. He could be... normal.


**A/N:** Crossposted from my AO3 - archiveofourown dot org / works/8720095

* * *

If someone told him last year that he'd take a season off, he might have actually believed them, but not for the right reasons. Even though he'd continued skating until now, it was because he'd done it so long he wasn't sure what else he _could_ do. But there always came a point when something had to give, and he'd been close to that point well before his fifth gold medal. Maybe before his fourth.

To say he'd fallen in love might give the wrong impression, but that's exactly what happened. Love at first sight even, though "first sight" had been well before he'd seen one Katsuki Yuuri performing his routine online.

He'd learned a little of the Japanese skater over the past couple years, heard about him through the grapevine, seen his name in the competition listings, caught glimpses of his routines. All those glimpses had been beautiful, even the ones where Yuuri crashed and burned. Even in failure, he could see the potential, could hear the music around the missed chords.

It was a music he'd been trying to find in himself for years.

So when he'd caught sight of Yuuri after their competition, he'd thought to break the ice, and maybe have a photo to hold in his hand and analyze to boot. He never expected Yuuri to turn and walk away. Few had ever turned their backs on him. Even knowing his parents may not have abandoned him by choice, the cold shoulder brought back an echo of that pain, a sense of loss as he realized there may be a good chance he'd never see Yuuri's potential fully realized, never hear the songs buried in his marrow.

So when he saw the video of Yuuri skating _his_ routine, and could hear the music through him, he'd known just what he had to do.

Part of him expected to be rejected again, but that first meeting with Yuuri was more of a surprise than he could have expected. He knew infatuation when he saw it; he'd been surrounded by it for years, bathed in it, ate it for breakfast even. So on top of coaching Yuuri, he decided he could have a bit of fun with him. Especially since Yuuri would be taking his _Eros_ routine.

But sometime between Yuuri declaring _katsudon_ as his inspiration and his performance at _Onsen on Ice_ , things... started to change. He didn't even realize it before it was too late. He was hypnotized by Yuuri's siren song, and the worst part was he didn't even care, because he was starting to hear the music that existed all around him and never noticed before. The screeching seagulls, the crash of waves on the rocks, the wind-rustle of leaves, the waking of the town before sunrise...

The gentle lap of the water of the _onsen_ under a night sky and the serenade of a cricket choir. The skip of his heartbeat when Yuuri looked at him with complete focus and a hint of a smile. The quiet strain of guilt when he pushed Yuuri to the point of getting annoyed, hidden behind the thrum of content because no one got _annoyed_ at him. Jealous, envious, frustrated, exasperated, angry... never something so common and mundane as _annoyed._

When it became obvious Yuuri was using _him_ more and more as inspiration, he thought maybe he might have a chance. And that thought terrified him; _he'd_ never been the one wanting a chance before. He wasn't even sure how it should work. Sure, he was experienced, most certainly was no blushing virgin, but his "relationships" consisted of one-night stands peppered with the occasional fling lasting no more than a week.

What he wanted with Yuuri... It was too big to even think about, much less give voice to it. So he did the only thing he was good at, his tried-and-true seduction routine, toned down considerably for Yuuri's sake. And the sake of his family.

And that was another shock to his system. Yuuri's family accepted him as a guest and friend of Yuuri. Didn't pester him with questions he'd heard a million times from fans and reporters, didn't try to cater to him any more than their other guests outside of the room he was put in. It was like they couldn't care less how famous he was, or didn't quite realize how famous he _was._ Judging by how little they seemed to know about skating, he was going with the latter, but it was all the same really.

There was no need for his usual smiles, no need to don caps and scarves to avoid the press most days. Hasetsu felt like a snowglobe town removed from the rest of the world, and even those who knew who he was treated him like a common tourist. He could be... normal.

 _Terrified_ was an understatement.

"Vik...chya…?" Yuuri murmured, half-asleep as he rolled over, burrowing into Viktor's chest. "Y'awake?"

Viktor smiled despite the way his chest tightened with such pure music it made it hard to breathe. "Mmhmm."

Yuuri cracked an eye open, squinting up at him from the cocoon of blankets. "Why?"

"Because you're distracting," he answered with a wink.

"I'm sleeping..." Yuuri scrunched his nose as his sleep-addled mind tried to figure out how he could possibly be distracting.

Viktor pressed his lips to Yuuri's forehead, lingering there longer than necessary, enjoying the simple gesture, the warmth of skin beneath his lips, the scent of Yuuri's shampoo. It'd been less than forty-eight hours apart, but it felt longer with the weight of so many things left unsaid. _Still_ unsaid. Things that might _remain_ unsaid until after the Grand Prix, or close to it.

He didn't want to let Yuuri go. Whether he won or lost, whether he retired or not, he wanted to stay _here_ , in each other's arms, breaths and heartbeats in harmony.

"Viktor?" Yuuri's voice was soft, fingers sliding up his chest and into his hair, thumb stroking against his ear.

He'd never been touched with such tenderness before; never _let_ anyone touch him like this before. It wasn't allowed. _He_ wasn't allowed. Letting someone close was a distraction, a sure way to lose everything he'd fought for - his fame, the adoration of his fans, a place in the world that was _his_ , somewhere he couldn't be tossed aside like last week's garbage.

Hot tears escaped despite his best effort, spilling into Yuuri's hair as his breathing stuttered.

Yuuri made a soft whimpering sound and tightened his arms, wrapping a leg over his hip and nuzzling into his neck. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Viktor shuddered with the effort to keep himself under control, squeezing Yuuri so tight it was a wonder his head didn't pop off. The words he wanted so desperately to say stuck in his throat like stones. It wouldn't be fair to speak them now, not when too many things were still undecided.

It didn't keep them from playing over and over again in his head.

 _Don't retire._

 _Don't toss me away when you're done winning._

 _Don't turn your back on me again._

 _Don't take away my music._

Yuuri's fingers stroked a soothing rhythm in his hair, and he wondered how something so simple could be so effective. Much more effective than trying to kiss someone's pain away. He swallowed a few times and reached for a tissue, hating the disgusting nonsense of blowing his nose. So unattractive.

"Sorry."

Yuuri blinked at him, confusion and concern warring for dominance in his expression before he _smiled_. " _Baka_ ," he murmured, more warmth in his voice than Viktor had ever heard. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Viktor's lips. "Go to sleep. I'll still be here in the morning."

 **A/N:** Crossposted from my AO3 -

Viktor watched Yuuri burrow back into the covers and his chest, warmth seeping into his limbs with a heavy weight. He understood in that moment how Yuuri had skated so well after crying in that garage, with how he felt drained and relieved, a weight lifted despite the fact nothing had changed. Maybe it had changed. He rolled to his back and pulled Yuuri half on top of him, slipping his chilled hands under Yuuri's shirt and pressing them against the heat of his lower back.

He laughed as Yuuri squirmed with a soft whine of protest before settling back down with a huff, chest tight with unspoken promises and desires.

How had he managed to get so lucky? He'd come here searching for inspiration for himself. He never expected to find it, not like this. He never expected to find a _home_.

Really, he'd found everything he could have ever asked for.

He just prayed he'd never have to let it go.


End file.
